


Won't you tell me you love me?

by Insane_Tomato



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood, Decapitation, M/M, Yandere, yes decapitation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25026016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insane_Tomato/pseuds/Insane_Tomato
Summary: From the moment George first met him, he was perfect.His eyes were the most beautiful shade of emerald green, his cheekbones not too far out but just enough to make them prominent, and the way he stuck his tongue out when he laughed. It didn’t matter what he looked like from the neck down, what mattered was his perfect, perfect face. It was beautiful.It was beautiful.It was his.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 156





	Won't you tell me you love me?

@)---’--,---

George had never really been a passionate person. To him, the skies could be grey for every second of his life and he could care less. His office work was boring, his lunch was boring, his friends were all so pitifully boring. He could leave his job, but then he’d go bankrupt, he could make new friends but he was too busy doing his work. It was all so boring, boring, boring; his life was so grey, grey, grey. But he could care less because this was how “the real world” worked, wasn’t it?

A handsome stranger walked through the door with a crooked grin and blisteringly bright eyes. 

He could have sworn someone was trying to talk to him, but his ears had shrunk into his head. All sounds he could hear were under water, under some sort of liquid he didn’t know and didn’t care to know. The world faded, and all that was left was  _ him,  _ this new guy who didn’t even know George’s name yet. 

He didn’t even realize he was interested in anyone the way he had suddenly been interested in this man, but he didn’t care. He didn’t remember the last time someone had taken his breath away, the last time his face flushed red, or the last time someone who he had glanced at had truly made him feel this obsessed before. He hadn’t been looking at this person’s body either, it never mattered to him. It was his beautiful, beautiful face that he was in love at first sight with, that he had been staring at, that he knew he would never quite forget. 

It was a moment to never forget, but it was a moment. Someone had shaken his arm and he snapped away from his session of admiration. He didn’t realize he was glaring at Nick, the person who had been trying to talk to him until he shriveled away from George, not expecting such aggression. 

“Yeah, that’s him. Clay, I think,” Nick repeated. He was slightly hushed, not wanting to frighten “Clay” off on his first day. “I’ve been told he’s the best coder in the state, though I don’t know for sure.”

George hummed, barely listening. There were three freckles above Clay’s left eye. 

@)---’--,---

His day was spent emailing all of his coworkers, trying to get any more information about Clay that he could. He was born and raised in Florida. He had three siblings, and was the middle child. He has a couple near death stories, one about him almost suffocating in a swamp. He had known Darryl, the manager, for a little over three years now. He had a girlfriend; it lasted a while but he’s single now. 

Barely focused on his work, George glanced at the time. He had stayed ten minutes extra at his desk, even though he usually bolted away from the office right when it was time to go. He was searching for Clay as unsuspiciously as he could, though apparently his office wasn’t located anywhere near his. Shame, he figured he could use a warm welcome. 

He found out there was a reason he could find Clay; he was standing right by the exit, talking with Darryl about some unknown coding bug. 

There had been two times where George had blushed in his life, and the second time was right now. He found himself toying with his fingers, and his throat felt closed off, like someone was gently squeezing it. His breaths were short, and his vision was fuzzy. Every sound was under water again, and he felt like he was burning in a comfortable house fire. He was admiring his face again, and he didn’t care who noticed. 

“George? Earth to George?” He snapped back to attention when Darryl was suddenly blocking his view. He blinked. The world went back to normal.

“Oh. Hi. Uh….” His voice was small, and the painful vision of his still unknown coworker was haunting his thoughts.

“You look flushed. Did you overwork yourself again?” There was a hand on his forehead, which he immediately swatted off. Darryl looked more concerned than usual, which wasn’t too surprising. He usually looked worried; George wondered if he ever got any peace of mind. 

“No.” That was a stupid response, Clay might’ve admired people who overworked themselves! “Not that- not that it’s a bad thing! To do extra work.”

Darryl wasn’t buying anything. He had an eyebrow raised, and his concern was slowly sneaking into suspicion. He needed a distraction, and quick.

He was back into view. “Hi, I’m Clay,” he spoke as he gently nudged Darryl to the side. He stuck out his hand, and George stared at it stupidly before accepting. “I’ve heard good stuff about you. I look forward to working with you as well!”

He was so energetic. His mouth never quite closed when he was speaking, and his teeth were perfectly white. Though everything else sounded like white static, his words were echoed with bells. He took his hand. It was warm.

“I’ve heard good stuff about you too. Like how you’ve known Darryl, and your favorite dessert is banana pudding.” Maybe that wasn’t a great fact to bring up first time, because Clay seemed taken aback. George would’ve taken it as a compliment, wasn’t it a good thing people knew random stuff about you?

“How did you… know that?” His eyebrows twitched, and they were perfectly filled in.

Quick. Blame someone. “Nick had found it out through someone else, and he told me.” Good enough. “He’s weird like that. As in he says random stuff. A lot. Very random.”

He was still holding onto his hand, so he quickly dropped it. His eyes never left Clay’s, for how could someone willingly miss that shiny gaze he loved so much? Clay hummed in response; it was hesitant. George wasn’t grand at first impressions.

There was an awkward silence, until Darryl thankfully filled it. He was good at stuff like that. “Well, George, when you go home, take care of yourself. It felt like you had a fever.”

“Maybe you need to keep your hands to yourself,” he joked, smiling along. Darryl and Clay laughed. Good. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” He turned around to leave after glancing at his face for one last time. The world turned grey again. 

Clay had very well filled lips for a guy. 

@)---’--,---

The house George returned to was grey, the park by the office was grey, every picture on his phone was grey; but God, Clay’s face was an explosion of color. 

He had been moved into an office directly across from his, which was perfect. He couldn’t see every time George looked at him again and again through the window space, and he really didn’t need to see it either. He didn’t need to notice every time he longed at him, wanting to touch his hair, his face, his cheeks. He didn’t need to notice anything but his work, and to be honest, George didn’t want him noticing either. 

Work ended too soon, with too little progress. He had written very few lines of code, but he memorized the pattern of Clay’s freckles under his eyes. One at the very left, three right next to that. Five under the group of four, an inch of skin, and an almost perfect pentagon. Next eye. Three at the very left, four under that. A misshapen star to the right, and one single dark freckle to act as a period to the perfect sentence. His freckles were perfect. He was perfect.

George shot up when he heard hands slap on his desk, and glared when he heard familiar laughter.

“Caught you staring at the new guy!” Nick yelled a little too loudly. “Someone’s got a crush,” he teased. His eyes were dull, the opposite of Clay’s.

“I don’t,” George spat, as he closed his program. It was time to leave again, it was time to leave too soon. “And quiet down. I was just lost in thought.” 

“I called your name three times!”

“Very lost in thought.”

He made a statement to very, very slowly close everything on his computer. It was his polite way of telling Nick to leave. He needed to think. 

“I’ll leave ya alone,” he finally chimed. “But watch where you’re staring!” He left with laughter. It didn’t echo like Clay. 

Speaking of Clay, he was gone. Now George could leave. 

He left the building, and saw his love leave. He lived close enough to where he didn’t need a car, and instead chose to walk home with his adorable little briefcase every day. 

George stared from afar. Clay’s blonde hair bounced left and right in the back when he walked. 

@)---’--,---

Nights were too long, and days were too quick. Though he had talked to Clay maybe four times, George loved him like a kid loved candy, like a murderer loves his tools. 

There was a faint, yet visible scar above Clay’s right temple; it looked like a cat scratch. He cocked his head to the right when he was confused, and leaned forward when he was listening to someone. When he was bored, he dug his cheek into his left hand, and when he got excited there were angels in his eyes. 

Then he went home, and he swayed to the left and to the right when he walked. When he was out of sight, the world went grey. George went home. The world was still grey. He went to bed. His dreams were grey. When he woke up, his bed was grey. His coffee was grey.

Grey. 

Grey. 

Grey.

Then he went to work, and when Clay got into his office after him, the world was alive with color. He could hear every background noise, he could feel the fire of a thousand suns, he could feel  _ love  _ again. 

His work was sloppier and sloppier as time went on, and it got so bad to where Darryl had to call him in once or twice. He was given days off, but immediately refused him. Weekends were hard enough without Clay, how could he stand a week at home? He needed to stay with him. He loved him.

He loved him.

He loved him.

He loved him.

He spoke with him a few times after their first meet, but slowly he got more and more nervous around him. He couldn’t breathe around him, he couldn’t think around him; all he could focus on was every single detail of his face. His smile that crooked to the right, his chipped third tooth, the aged skin on his nose from sunburns,  _ every little detail was perfect.  _ His soft jawline, the way his eyebrows were never quite at the same height level, the slight baggage under his eyes,  _ perfect, perfect, perfect.  _ He loved him, he loved his face, he loved the way his mind suffered around him. He was so in love.

Clay approached his office. 

“We need to talk. You’ve been creepily staring at me for weeks now, and it’s weirding me out. Stop, or I’m moving offices.”

His world turned grey.

@)---’--,---

“I haven’t been-”

“Yes you have.” He appeared angry, but his voice seemed scared. The colors of the world dimmed lower, lower, lower and Clay’s face went darker, darker, darker. George couldn’t tell if he had gone blind or not. “You’ve been taking this too far, whatever problem with me you have, you gotta fix it. It’s making me uncomfortable.”

George wasn’t great under pressure, and this was the most tense moment of his life. The sixth conversation they’ve had (he had been keeping track), and it could be the last. “I don’t see any problem with it. What’s wrong with a little admiration?” He found himself standing up. Clay stepped back.

“It’s fucking creepy, George.” How could love be creepy!?

“It’s how… It’s how I show my love! My affection! How can it be creepy? I’d take it as a compliment.” He stepped closer, turning to the side to cut off the door. 

“Your love? I don’t even know you!”

“But I know you.” He knew a lot about Clay; he knew that he had been a rebellious child, he knew that his favorite game was Minecraft, he knew he had been admin and mod on countless servers, he knew he hated coffee and most chocolates, he knew he still texts his mother every day, he knew  _ so much. _ He loved these little odd facts, he held them close to his heart,  _ why wouldn’t Clay take it as a compliment!? _

“You don’t! I’m your coworker! I know more about Darryl and Nick than I do you, you’re just a creep who won’t stop staring at me!”

He stepped closer. Clay had nowhere to go now, his back was pressed against the wall. “Clay, you don’t need to know me. You don’t need to know a damn thing about me, I never mattered. I would do anything for you!” Closer. His eyes were shifted, a darker shade of green. George babbled on and on, never once thinking about what he was saying. “It never mattered who I was, all that matters is  _ you. _ All that matters is…” Finally, he would say what he needed to. “Is I love you. To death. For life.” He took Clay’s hand. It was cold. “You won’t get rid of me. I love you, I love you,  _ I love you.  _ Your perfections. Your imperfections. They’re so beautiful, they’re so wondrous, they’re so perfect. I love you.” He had gotten so close now; his free hand was against Clay’s chest and he was pressed up against him so, so gently. “My life was so boring before you, don’t you see? Now I have someone to love, to care about, and it’s you! It was destined to be you! Don’t you see? I’m meant to be with you, even if you’re not meant to be with me. You’re my only reason worth living.” 

He had lost track of words when he spoke them; he was too busy staring into Clay’s eyes. They were the only color amongst the grey office wall behind him. He was so close he could see his reflection, but he didn’t care about him. He cared about the deformed circle shaped shine in his left eye, and he cared about the heat that radiated off his chest. Never once did he look away from Clay’s eyes. They were silent for a while. 

“I don’t love you. I’m moving offices.” He was shoved to the side, but he’d be okay because it was Clay who shoved him, after all. Surprisingly, he was actually okay with him moving offices. He smiled as he left, staring at the way his hair bounced differently when he walked. He must have used a different shampoo. 

He watched him pack his things, and he watched him leave. George packed up shortly after. 

He followed Clay home. It was pretty simple, as he had gotten his address through papers littered on Darryl’s desk after work. 

@)---’--,---

Clay’s footsteps were louder than normal people’s footsteps. He had three distinct beauty marks on his neck, each spaced out and surrounded by freckles. His hands swayed while he walked, and his head bobbed from side to side, sometimes looking at passing cars or indistinct buildings. 

He missed his face. It was the best part about him.

He lived in an apartment, and by his door were methodically planted bushes that were perfect for hiding. George hid there for at least three hours, constantly dreaming of each freckle littered across his love’s face. Of the scar across his temple. Of his hands, of his jaw, of his lips. His perfect lips. 

Perfect.

Perfect.

Perfect.

@)---’--,---

It was night time. George brought out the spare key to Clay’s apartment from his pockets (he had left it on his desk, and George kept meaning to give it back to him, of course) and approached the door.

It unlocked.

Luckily Clay was in his room, doing whatever it is he needed to. George didn’t care. He couldn’t really make out anything he saw; he kept focusing on the freckles under Clay’s eyes and the way his nose bunched up when he was disgusted at something. 

He grabbed the biggest kitchen knife he could find in the apartment kitchen. It would do. He kept remembering the feeling of Clay’s heartbeat from earlier. It was a little faster than normal.

He approached the door. He didn’t bother knocking. 

He was playing Minecraft, too busy fighting a character with the gamertag “Sapnap.” He didn’t notice the reflection in the monitor. He was cute when he got competitive. His eyes were shining, and the aura radiating from him was relaxing. 

“Clay, won’t you please tell me you love me?”

He froze. The aura changed. He slowly took off his headphones; there was someone speaking into them. He could care less.

He barely spoke above a whisper. He was frightened. His eyes changed, and his mouth was slightly open. “George?”

George grabbed Clay’s hair and pulled his head back, pressing the knife against him. It felt like damp hay. He had just showered, he smelled like citrus. “You don’t have to mean it. Won’t you please tell me you love me?”

If he shook any harder, his neck would be slit. The shouting in the headphones got frantic. “George, put the kn-”

“Won’t you  _ please _ tell me you love me?” It was a simple request, really.

There was silence. 

“I…” Finally, he would confess. “I don’t… love you, George.”

He pressed the knife harder. Blood emerged from his neck. “Do you know how much pain and suffering you’ve put me through? To look at your beauty, but to never touch? I don’t think this is that much to ask for.” Harder. “Won’t you tell me you love me?” 

Clay gasped for breath. Half of the knife was into his skin, and his clothes were covered in blood. He couldn’t scream because it would waste more breath, and he didn’t want to tell him his feelings. Useless, useless, useless.

He dug harder, sawing now. He couldn’t see, he was too busy listening to gasps of breath and the sound of him choking on blood. His eyes were dulling. “For weeks, I’ve been watching you. Learning information about you. Loving you. Missing you. And you won’t do one thing for me?”

The gasps stopped. The struggle slowed. Clay couldn’t respond, he was dead. 

“Clay, won’t you please tell me you love me?” Silence. He kept sawing. “It’s difficult the first time, but I’d still appreciate it.”

The weight in his hands lightened. Clay was free. He held his head in his hands, and kissed him hard. He tasted like cold blood. 

From the moment George first met him, he was perfect.

His eyes were the most beautiful shade of emerald green, his cheekbones not too far out but just enough to make them prominent, and the way he stuck his tongue out when he laughed. It didn’t matter what he looked like from the neck down, what mattered was his perfect, perfect face. It was beautiful.

It was beautiful.

_ It was his. _

@̵)̸-̷-̸-̸’̴-̶-̴,̵-̷-̶-̴

**Author's Note:**

> sorry lol


End file.
